#contractors

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wood is wood, right?

[josephquinnswhore]

hearts under construction - chapter one

series masterlist / next chapter

The sun was already warming the air in a way that felt too thick by the inhale through your nose, barely midday before you stepped barefoot into the backyard. The grass was cool and damp beneath your soles at least, the soft hem of your dress swaying around below your knees. It clung in all the right places, following each curve and dip of your body, cotton-thin and pale yellow, printed with tiny white daisies that matched the wild ones swaying just past the garden bed.

You wore it when you needed to feel like yourself again and not just a mother. More than just a woman running on half a cup of cold coffee and four hours of sleep. Just… the bright spirit returning to a woman who spent every waking hour giving to everything else, including the sporadically vibrant garden in your backyard.

A crow warbled somewhere on a high branch in the tall lemon tree. It had come such a long way from when you’d purchased the place, hardly anything more to it than dried out branches and crumpled leaves that crunched under your boots. Now, it stands a few feet taller than you as the centrepiece in your garden, leaves a beautiful shade of shamrock green, the bright yellow lemons are thick with juice, hanging low enough for you to pick.

The hum of bees stirred lowly around the lavender bush near the waist-height poorly painted pink and yellow picket-fence and in the quiet, you could almost pretend the world was still asleep.

Almost. In a reality that wasn’t your own.

Which was rudely interrupted by loud, jarring drilling against wood from the house next door.

The roar of machinery groaned through the morning air, shaking the silence from the leaves. Again. Another too-early morning that had begun yesterday.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

Wren was knelt beside you, blissfully unbothered by the relentless, jarring noise that disrupted every creature in your yard, the crow that had been observing you had flown off with an annoyed craw.

Your three year old daughter was too occupied with a more serious task at hand, both hands buried wrist-deep in the rich soil, tiny lips pursed in the way she always did when she was concentrating hard. She was planting pale pink snapdragons in the messiest, most crooked little row you’d ever seen—but she was proud of it, and so were you.

“Mummy,” she said suddenly, pointing toward the pink and yellow mismatched slats of the fence. “Who’s that man? Is he a weirdo?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What man?”

Wren squinted over the low fence in wonder, neither of you not actually seen who was working on the new deck that had a barely finished frame mounted from your neighbours back door.

“That one over there with the hairy belly.” The accusation was sold through her pointer finger aiming at whoever was there.

Your eyes follow her finger—and freeze in morbid embarrassment.

There stood the so-called weirdo. He stood on the other side of the fence, just barely visible around the frame of the wooden plank he was carrying against his chest. And yet somehow, it was enough.

A man built like the damn Texan heat itself—broad shoulders, sun-warmed skin, arms dusted with hair and dried sawdust. His grey shirt clung inhumanly to his chest, soaked dark through the fabric from sweat, the material was thin enough to make out every dip and line of muscle beneath it. His tool belt hung low on his hips, enough for you to give a twice over. One hand lifted to wipe sweat from his brow once he set the plank down, revealing a thick, dark trail of hair curling up from his stomach and disappearing under the cotton.

He looked like someone you’d pull from a southern summer romance novel. One that sat perched on your shelf inside and collected dust by the nightstand as you lie awake wondering if men like that actually existed. A man written by a woman.

The logo on his shirt reads Miller Brothers Construction & Labor.

Contractors.

You didn’t mean to stare, the justification fell flat inside of your head because you know damn well its a lie, you did a fucking twice over, a double take on his snail trail alone.

Pervert, you scold internally.

But your eyes linger regardless of the self-inflicted internal scold, like your brain hadn’t caught up to your body yet, like the heat pooling low in your stomach had taken control before you could stop it from forming.

And then your daughter informs everyone that she’s a chaotic menace sent by the universe to keep you humble—she shouted loud enough for the entire suburb to hear.

“He’s got a hairy belly!”

Your heart nearly dropped into the soil. The same soil stuck under your well groomed fingernails.

“Wren!” you hissed, swatting at the air like you could snatch her words back out of it.

But it was too late.

You peeked back through the fence and saw the man she was still pointing at, pause for just a second. Like he’d heard. Like he definitely heard. He didn’t look over or laugh, smirked. Barely enough for you to register, or wonder if you saw it at all, maybe you made it up to make up for your daughters rude comment.

But it was there, tugged at the corner of his mouth like he was trying not to enjoy himself.

That somehow made it worse. That he heard and said nothing; you didn’t have the stomach to stand and say, ‘hey, I’m sorry my daughter told the whole neighbourhood you have a hairy belly, even though you do? Oh.. how do I know? I did a double take.’

Absolutely not.

You turned away quickly, pretending to rearrange the spade in the soil, your face on fire. The embarrassment crawled up your neck, bloomed in your cheeks, and settled in your chest like a damn heatwave. You couldn’t even blame Wren for what she’d uttered, she was a kid, and extremely unfiltered.

Also, it wasn’t just her who’d been staring.

You wipe your palms on the front of your dress, leaving little streaks of dirt behind in an attempt to shake off the embarrassment.

But the sound of slow, steady footsteps on gravel made your stomach flip into an uncomfortable position.

You looked up just in time to see him approaching your low fence, which he towered over.

Approaching you and your daughter as if he hadn’t just been called a hairy bellied weirdo.

A bottle of water dangled from one hand, and a thick brown glove peeked from his back pocket. His shirt clung tighter now, damp all the way to the collar, plastered across his chest. His jeans looked older, faded at the knees, and there was something deliberate in his walk—casual, like he wasn’t about to come ruin your composure entirely.

He stopped at the fence, leaned against it with one boot hooked behind the other, and took a long pull from his bottle. His eyes swept over the well-maintained vibrant garden… and then landed on you.

You felt Wren shift beside you, looking up at him with wide eyes and a head tilted in open curiosity.

The man’s gaze dropped to her. And then, for the first time, he smiled. It was the smallest thing, like his smirk it was barely there, but it cracked something open inside your chest anyway.

“Nice mornin’,” he said, voice low and gravel-warm, like someone who’d just woken up and hadn’t bothered to mask it.

You blinked. “Y-yeah. It is.”

Wren beamed up at him, completely unfazed. “My mummy says you woke her up this morning with your stupid banging sounds.”

You nearly choke on the air inside of your lungs. “Wren!”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, eyes sparkling with amusement as they flicked from her to you. “Did she now?” He drawls, slow and smug. “Guess I owe you an apology, then.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything, but Wren beat you to it again. She ran forward with a fistful of weeds she’d been plucking, pushing one toward him proudly.

“This is for your hairy belly.”

You could’ve died right there. Buried yourself in the garden bed and let the worms take you.

Joel glanced down at the bright yellow dandelion. Then up at you.

Slowly observing the way you avoid his gaze in absolute shame.

His face didn’t change much, but you could see the twitch in his jaw, the way his lip curved just slightly like he was trying real hard not to burst out laughing. Perhaps at the absurd situation, or your embarrassment.

He took the flower between two fingers, like it was the most delicate gift he’d ever received.

“Well,” he said, “reckon I’ve never gotten flowers for that before.”

Your face burned. You fidgeted with the hem of your dress which accumulated more brown dirt stains.

“She’s… very observant,” you managed to say after a few moments of thoughtful silence.

He leaned a little more over the fence, the low rumble of his voice curling around your ears like smoke. “Yeah. Seems like it runs in the family.”

Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, and he held your gaze. Held it too long.

Long enough for you to realise his eyes are deep brown. He smiled then, his signature barely there reaction. Then he tipped the water bottle toward you like a little farewell salute.

“See you around, then.”

And with that, he turned and walked back toward your neighbours house.

You watched him go, heart thudding inside of your tight chest, throat dry as you’d gotten to inspect the man up close. Your dress clung a little more tightly now, damp with heat, sweat and something else entirely.

Beside you, Wren plucked another dandelion and looked up at you.

“Mummy… why are you embarrassed?”

You didn’t answer because the truth wasn’t something you didn’t understand yourself. It’s not something you could explain, but felt.

“It’s just getting a little warm outside baby, why don’t we go inside and make some lemon juice and make a fruit salad for lunch?”

The offer makes her fingers loosen around the colourful weeds and forgetting about them before she ran to your back door in excitement. “Come on! My belly is hungry.”

Before you could huff, you give the little girl a smile and don’t realise the man over the fence watched the sweet interaction—eyeing you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

As you close the back door, you realise you didn’t even ask his name, nor he yours. Hopefully you could ignore the incredibly good looking, sweaty, hairy-bellied man for as long as it took to build a back deck.

How long did that take? Weeks at least, right? Yeah. You’re screwed.

Sunshine, he’d decided silently as he watches you chase your daughter indoors. You were like sunshine.

[nocternalrandomness]

A Department of State Bell UH-1 crewed by Dyncorp contractors in Afghanistan - March 22, 2007

[sophiebaybey]

Watch this video on Twitch Live

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[these-summer-nights-in-december]

Christopher Citro | This Is Today | 2026-04-28

[thelovelypoems]

Hei initiated hugs

Yin initiated hugs

Not sure who initiated but arms are wrapped around

Tumblr only let me post 10 images per post, so I know that missing a few. Let me know what I missed. I'm only doing official art by anime or manga but cover pages, posters and wallpaper count too! I'll try to make a part 2 with the rest.

[woundpiercerlive]

Been having fun with ExfilZone, here's my stash so far! (After quite a few connection issues...